The Beginning of the End
by 9randnote
Summary: Some stories I posted elsewhere pre- and post Jackson's accident on Emmerdale late 2010, arranged in rough chronological order. This year's Aarson storyline depressed me so deeply that I can't foresee I'll return to shipping it. Reviews welcome :
1. I'm Still Here 20 Sep 2010

**I'm still here**

_[Aaron Livesy / Jackson Walsh]_

_K. Approx 2850 Words._

_Written for: Gaga, I don't know. For shits and giggles? I submitted these somewhere else last year, so it's all pre-the black hole of misery that has overwhelmed this story in 2011. I was pleased with these attempts in particular, so let me know what you think by all means, though the show has long since moved beyond the events described.  
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***Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of the characters, names or settings portrayed here.__I intend no trespass by musing on them in this way. Don't sue, or send me nasty, expletive-laden emails._

**I'm still here**

Jackson sighed and emptied his pint glass. Aaron had just swept out of the Woolpack back to work, with Paddy hot on his heels, his last words to them both a snarled retort, "You two call yourselves mates!"

The two older men had confronted the hot headed mechanic about his persistence in flogging that dodgy old Fiesta of his to Pearl, Paddy's receptionist. He'd entered the pub earlier waving around the deposit she'd paid him for the heap of scrap, as if he was supposed to earn hard-won praise for defrauding an old age pensioner with a clocked heap of junk on wheels. Jackson was having none of it, and neither was Paddy.

All their stand had earned them both was a withering glare and defensive snarls from the teenager, before he stormed off.

Around him, the Woolpack hummed quietly with its lunchtime crowd. He looked at his empty glass on the table before him, as the remaining film of beer foam pooled in the bottom. He wasn't sure how much stroppy Aaron he could put up with today, but he would have to see him again eventually- they now lived together!

He smiled ruefully for a second, thinking of Aaron as he preferred him. Scenes from their fast receding holiday in Lanzarote flickered through his thoughts; together on the beach, in bed, wandering along the sea front as the evening broke and the festive town lights turned on. Aaron had even taken his hand, without the usual grimace of distaste or blush of apparent shame.

Every image was soaked in sunshine and Aaron's smile, which, in its ever so rare appearances, could light up a room. An even rarer appearance since returning to Emmerdale.

They'd been back less than a week, and already the familiar clouds had begun to darken the landscape of their already troubled relationship. The silences. The tension. The angry kaleidoscope of emotions and behavior that were the young man he'd let back into his life.

Things had changed, sure; for the better even, but now, with this fiasco with the Fiesta, it seemed only another case of one step forward, twenty steps back.

"You want another, love?" Diane's face loomed at the edge of his vision, bringing his train of thought to an abrupt halt.

"Uhh, no, you're alright," he came to, and smiled at the newly returned Woolpack landlady,

"I best get back to it." He shifted onto his feet.

"No rest for the wicked, eh?" responded Diane, but she was already halfway back to the bar, and by the sound of her voice, her own troubles kept her miles away beyond that.

He emerged into the partly cloudy brightness of a Yorkshire day, squinting after the dimness inside the pub. As his eyes settled, they were drawn automatically down the facing road, busy with lunchtime traffic and ambling pedestrians, to the garage.

He looked for the familiar overalls under the bobbing head, with its short dark cut. He both wanted to see him, and didn't in the slightest.

No activity; his Transit van sat by Declan's house unmolested. The caf? Nothing. His mum would be in there now, no doubt.

His gaze turned to Smithy cottage up the road. Paddy's and Rhona's cars sat gleaming under the fluctuating sunlight. He could see Pearl, who had finished her lunch time drink with her friends, outside the vets surgery talking to a customer. A large dobermann stood by the man's heels. No doubt she was regaling both with the tale of her new car, Florence.

_Florence_. Jackson grimaced.

No sooner did Jackson believe Aaron had turned a corner, when some new mishap appeared at his bidding. What part of selling a clocked car to an old woman who was practically family to him did he not see as wildly inappropriate? Deceptive? Just _wrong_? What was it about him that drove him to such deeds?

Despite every bit of progress he appeared to have made, here was yet another example of the old Aaron; deceitful and aggressive; answering to no-one.

The same question that nightly troubled Jackson piqued him now. The same one had been his one justification during those two months steering clear of Aaron, after the scene in the pub where the mechanic had punched him. That one question bubbled quietly to the surface of Jackson's mind now while he considered the car, and his boyfriend, and the old woman outside the vet and the busy yet placid village scene unfolding before him:

What the hell was he still doing with someone like Aaron?

Lost in the valley of such thoughts, he started down the Hotten road towards Declan's house and his van, dodging around parked and moving vehicles and pedestrians as he went. In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

He stopped and hesitated before fishing it out. Did he even want to see Aaron now? Did he really feel like Round Two of trying to woo what scrap of conscience Aaron seemed to have left?

Sighing, shoulders drooping, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and examined the small screen on its cover.

It was his mum.

At the caf. Come grab a cuppa before we close. What you two want for tea? X

_You two_, he thought. _Of course we'd be together. Why wouldn't we_? _Joined at the hip for nearly two months now_.

At least it meant Aaron wasn't at the caf. Jackson grimaced to himself again, annoyed at feeling so hounded. It was a small village, yes, but he was in the right. It was Aaron who had made the wrong choice. Again.

Why should he, Jackson, feel so trapped?

And he _loved_ Aaron. Didn't he? Could he love someone who lied and cheated almost on instinct? Who, beyond all the progress he'd made and challenges he'd overcome, and despite all the encouragement of his mismatched family and handful of friends, not to mention Jackson himself, still seemed to resist change as if it were a virus infecting him?

As he walked up to his van and wrenched the door open, sliding into the drivers seat. He purposely didn't look into the garage and its yard littered with abandoned car parts. A tide of doubt washed and ebbed in his mind, distracting him.

Glancing at this watch, he cursed under his breath at the time and stepped on the ignition, firing himself out of the village and into the rolling country lanes beyond.

He didn't notice the eyes watching him from beneath the raised bonnet of a large Subaru. Aaron followed the departing van with haunted eyes, until instantly a grimace crossed his face and he bent back down to his work.

It was getting dark when Jackson returned to Emmerdale. He'd spent the afternoon in Cloughton, about ten miles on the other side of Hotten, quoting on a building job.

He would probably never admit it out loud- _how very Aaron_, he thought to himself with a smirk- but he had enjoyed the brief respite from the village and his trouble-baiting boyfriend, doing what he did best.

No-one saw him as anything else but a builder this afternoon. No eyes followed him around nervously, waiting for his other half to manifest at his side like a bad omen. No awkward silences and moral quicksand. Just the simple order of a construction site.

'Bit dramatic,' he chastised himself with a smile.

As dusk fell across the Dales, his roving headlights mapped out the winding road, suddenly alighting on a familiar sign: _Welcome to Emmerdale. Please drive carefully through our village_.

'Tread carefully, more like,' he mused as he swung his wheels into the village glowing beyond, slowing the van to a crawl.

Smithy Cottage swam into view in the near distance. Suddenly, instinctively, he turned in at the now darkened garage, and parked his van outside Declan's similarly quiet house. He shut off the motor, and sat in his van, staring at his temporary home at the top of the street.

Nearby, the Woolpack gleamed warmly, and dark figures moved into and out of it. Smithy Cottage was also lit up, the outside lights splashing across the stone walls and green lawns at their feet. A window, his and Aaron's window, also glowed dimly upstairs.

He sat frozen in the dimming light, paralysed by indecision.

He hadn't really completed the train of thought he had coasted out of the village on; about Aaron, and the relationship he had rekindled with the troubled and intensely provocative mechanic; about that stupid car Aaron was trying to con Pearl into buying; about the angry resentment those actions stirred in Jackson, in stark counterpoint to the surge of lust and even love he felt for that stupid, beautiful kid.

Almost on cue, a warm feeling spread through his midriff, and he felt his heart pounding insistently at the thought of Aaron. Could he forgive and forget? Again?

He felt caught, trapped, as he had that afternoon, between his desire to speed up the slight hill into Smithy Cottage or that damned pub just to see Aaron again, and staying put, stewing in his grudge against the mechanic's behaviour and his seemingly unrepentant and unending instinct to cause trouble.

Why was he always the one conceding; giving way? Irritation surged through him as he recalled the arrogant sneer on Aaron's face as he and Paddy had confronted the teenager that afternoon about Pearl and the car; his piercing blue eyes lit with cold derision; a smug answer for every turn of accusation or argument offered.

Through the gathering dark, Jackson stared at that dimly lit window of the room that he and Aaron shared, and through it, back across the long months since he'd encountered Aaron in Bar West, crouched on a chair near the pool table, looking fierce and vulnerable.

A sudden rap at the window startled him out of his thoughts, so much that he jolted in his chair and barked in shock. He turned in his seat, and there outside, dimly visible in the fading light, was Aaron staring in at him with unreadable eyes hidden in the deep shadow cast by his hooded top.

Jackson rolled down the window, wincing at its familiar squeal as it descended. He assumed as best a nonchalant look as he could.

'Alright?' he smiled hesitantly at the face outside.

Aaron yanked down his hood with a free hand. 'What are you doing down here?' he demanded, probably more forcefully than he meant to.

Jackson immediately noted the lack of humour in the demand. Normally such a challenge would have been accompanied by Aaron's trademark smirk. Some days Jackson lived for that smirk. Not today though.

'Eh? Nothing… I, er, just got back from that site in Cloughton,' he offered, though he couldn't seem to look Aaron in the eyes just yet.

He looked down into his lap and pretended to fiddle with something under the dashboard, continuing, 'Just, er.. you know, gathering me thoughts, and all.' He finished by offering the mechanic a weak smile. _He probably can't even see it_, his mind added.

Aaron's brows knitted for a second, then loosened as he sent a glance up the street, and then back to his feet, his eyes still unreadable in the darkness. He hesitated, seemed to consider the evidence, then offered;

'Oh... right. I was just, er, walking Clyde, you know.' He too finished with a quick but speculative glance at Jackson's eyes, before, as usual, his gaze shifted elsewhere, and a fierce shyness seemed to overcome him.

Jackson leaned out the window a little and there indeed stood Clyde, Aaron's Alsatian, panting and looking at nothing in particular.

'Okay,' he offered, keeping his eyes on the dog at Aaron's midriff.

An awkward silence descended, cut only by the soft hum of music and conversation drifting down the street from the Woolpack.

'Look, I...' they both began, then stopped, and suddenly grinned at each other. Aaron huffed a small chuckle as Jackson's smile widened in response. Clyde yawned with a small whine, unmoved by whatever was passing invisibly between his master and the builder.

'You going to the pub?' Jackson offered to the waiting mechanic. In an instant, the atmosphere had lightened immeasurably.

Aaron's face seemed to have cleared. 'Yeah. Can do. Just got to feed this lump first.' He nudged Clyde with his leg gently. 'Are you coming or what?'

His thoughts on hold for the moment, Jackson made his decision instantly.

'Too right, I am,' he offered in return, as he snapped off his seatbelt and popped the door open with a squeal. As Aaron and Clyde watched, he locked his van, checked it again, and turned to join them, as they moved off.

They moved slowly up the street, Clyde between them. Aaron held onto the dog's leash with both hands, staggering slightly each time Clyde tested it. Jackson wandered alongside with his hands in his pockets, unsure where to look, but also, despite himself, glancing at Aaron's face, intent on his dog. Quite what he was hoping to see, he was unsure. The awkward silence resumed, following them up the street from the van.

Aaron stopped and turned to Jackson, swaying slightly as Clyde registered the halt a little too late.

He spared a glance up the street, as if gathering his thoughts, and then his dark eyes bored into Jackson's.

'Look,' he offered, a desperate thread to his voice, 'I gave Pearl her deposit back and squared the whole thing with her. She's fine. No harm done. Ask your mam, she was there.'

Jackson regarded his suddenly penitent boyfriend through the darkness. He peered at the face he loved, and so often despaired of, and for his trouble, couldn't discern an ounce of the smug arrogance it wore the last time he saw it. His heart swelled at the offering, despite the protestation of his mind that once again his faith was probably being led astray. Despite this, he kept his look as nonplussed as possible, hoping not to communicate the turmoil behind his eyes.

'Did you? Did you tell her the motor was clocked?' he responded levelly with a raised eyebrow. He expected a sudden increase in Aaron's defensiveness as response- a clear sign that he was bullshitting him again. It didn't come.

'I did, yeah,' responded the mechanic, keeping his eyes firmly on those of his boyfriend. His voice sounded only of someone who was being desperately sincere. Before he could offer further mitigation, their gaze broke as Aaron suddenly lurched sideways. 'Clyde!' he hissed, giving the dog a fierce stare and yanking firmly on his leash. Clyde clearly thought it was well past his dinner time and was ready to be off home.

Jackson chuckled suddenly, mostly from a sense of relief that washed over him, but also at the scene unfolding. In a second, the pensive thoughts and accusations that had accompanied his exit and return to Emmerdale that day seemed irrelevant and faded from his mind, displaced by his desire for Aaron, which surged through his chest like a flame.

Aaron looked indignant at Jackson's sudden turn of mirth. 'What's so flamin' fun-'

He was stopped short by Jackson's lips against his own. The builder, overwhelmed suddenly by his feelings, had closed the distance between them in an instant and pressed his mouth to Aaron's. His arms and hands followed the gesture, curling around the mechanic's torso, under his arms, and meeting lightly in the small of his back. The warmth that flowed between them in that instant was electric, and it didn't take much of an instant longer for the mechanic to realise he was forgiven, and tentatively to return the embrace.

With his free hand, Aaron bore into Jackson's eyes and reached up to hold the back of Jackson's curly head to his own, deepening the kiss, savouring the soft familiar breath covering his face and the familiar taste of Jackson's lips.

Clyde whined, now seated on the road and watching the two of them. Slowly, tentatively, they broke their kiss, but remained lightly entwined.

'What was that for?' asked Aaron, slightly out of breath and now truculent, dark eyes watching Jackson, attempting to decipher his boyfriend's suddenly loving gaze. 'Are you bladdered already?'

'I missed you today,' declared Jackson finally. He planted another kiss on Aaron's face, and then released his one arm, so the three of them could continue back up the dark street to Smithy Cottage. Clyde now occupied the outside of their formation while Jackson and Aaron stuck close together, hands entwined.

Aaron balanced a look of confusion with one of mollification, but didn't release Jackson's hand, nor did he separate from him.

'But what about the car?' he insisted suddenly.

Jackson's smile deepened. 'Sorted for now,' he offered, 'we can clear it up tomorrow.' He ducked his head and tried to kiss Aaron's pale cheek.

Aaron side-stepped Jackson's advance and shoved him off his shoulder, exclaiming; 'Gerroff, you perve!' His hand never left Jackson's though and like elastic they drifted back towards each other, both grinning like idiots, as Clyde marched ahead, having sighted the door of Smithy cottage, yanking at his leash.

Somewhere in the darkness behind, Jackson's doubts followed them, forgotten for now, as lust and love and forgiveness took their place, but never that far behind.


	2. Missing You  27 Sep 2010

**Missing you**

_[Aaron Livesy / Jackson Walsh]_

_K. Approx 2560 Words._

_Written for: The idea for this occurred after watching the events of the episode that aired on 26__th__ September 2010. As is the usual model for soap storylines, the scenes left a lot to the imagination (not to mention future episodes). This piece began well, but the concept floundered about ¾ of the way through, so I tried to hang it on the odd symmetry of them figuratively and literally missing each other and left it at that. It also tries to accommodate events subsequent to the 26__th__, but I suppose those will need closer examination in future fiction. I'll have to try knock something together before next week's much publicized crash episode spins the whole storyline in yet another trauma-laden direction._

_**Author Post Script:** I submitted these somewhere else last year, so it's all pre-the black hole of misery that has overwhelmed this story in 2011. I was pleased with these attempts in particular, so let me know what you think by all means, though the show has long since moved beyond the events described._

***Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of the characters, names or settings portrayed here.__I intend no trespass by musing on them in this way. Don't sue, or send me nasty, expletive-laden emails._

Jackson lay in the darkness of his new bedroom and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. It was his first night at Andy's and as yet he hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep. He sighed, and untwisted his bare legs from the covers.

It was all so unfamiliar: the scent of the place, the odd light filtering in the open window from the street outside. Ryan was still in jail, and Andy was staying up at Butlers Farm for the evening given some early morning task he had ahead of him. The house was quiet, and its newest resident's things were still strewn all about, mostly still unpacked.

Loneliness pawed at him. Missing was the familiar soft breathing and occasional snort of a sleeping Aaron, whose room he had shared up until that day.

After the confrontation with his now ex-boyfriend, and the subsequent waterworks with his mum, he'd headed into Hotten with Phil. Just to get away.

He blushed slightly at the memory of his tears. His own hard man routine was by no means as polished as Aaron's, and in the hours that followed Aaron's stormy departure from Andy's, the fortitude he'd held onto throughout the morning's moving had melted away into unbearable sadness at the events of the past few days.

His mum had shown her usual pragmatic humour, gently steering him out of misery and back into rational thinking. It was Aaron's loss, no matter how many glares and scowls he gave the builder. Aaron had done this.

This of course was the main reason for his insomnia. The stress of the day should have worn him out, but he'd remained tightly coiled since Aaron had stormed out of Andy's earlier that day.

Even the evening spent away, playing pool with Phil and some of the other lads in town, had failed to relax him. Again and again he had to convince himself he had made the right choice.

Aaron was once again sprinting down the road to self-destruction, oblivious to all appeals to his better judgment. Jackson couldn't stand by and watch him take the feud with Mickey to the next level of antagonism. He wouldn't stand there and watch it happen. So he'd made a pre-emptive strike of his own. And for all the rationalization of that choice, for all the confirmations that his friends and his mum and even Rhona had offered; he couldn't escape his gut feeling: he had failed.

His blush deepened and he turned over under unfamiliar linen, still musty after weeks folded in a bag. The mattress too was uncharted. Aaron's bed was firm, almost unyielding, but this one was almost elastic it was so soft. The springs thrummed slightly as he moved around.

His mind raced in a familiar loop, the same thought rushing past. If Aaron refused to meet him halfway, then what was the point? If it was only going to be one crisis after another, with no lessons learnt and no change in behavior, then why stick around?

The mechanic's instinct was to destroy. Violence was his primary response, every time. That passion was as repulsive to Jackson as it was compelling. The fire in Aaron's eyes was as frightening as it was intoxicating.

'Christ,' he whispered, frustrated with the repetitive chain of thought surging through his head. He turned over again, then abruptly sat up in the bed, which creaked in protest.

Getting up, he padded softly over the window and stared out at the dark main street outside. The Woolpack was quiet and dark. He saw a cat slinking silently along the slate wall across the street. He couldn't see Smithy Cottage from here, thankfully. He knew there would be one darkened window that held his attention completely.

'Stalker' he muttered to himself, and pulling back from the window he padded silently towards the door, which he opened with a soft creak.

Four hundred yards away, Aaron lay in the darkness of his room and stared into the dim space above him, focusing on nothing in particular, mind steeped in misery and simmering anger. His hand rested on the cool sheets alongside him, empty now that Jackson had gone.

He hadn't bothered to get under the covers and unconsciously, he still lay to the left of the bed, near the window, as if Jackson was still there, curled in his usual position on the right.

He had both loved and loathed the arrangement; as frustrating as sharing his room had been at times, unfamiliar objects littering his usually neat space, a whole other person in the room, his room, he always awoke to find himself tightly adhered to his sleeping boyfriend. Sometimes he even fluttered awake as Jackson gently untangled himself from Aaron's sleeping grip. At night, his deeply suppressed need for intimacy and touch betrayed him. That was gone now.

Not one for rational thought, his mind veered between misery and rage, his heart thudding along in accompaniment. The former was for primarily for himself, for Clyde and for his now absent partner, the latter purely for that piece of shit, Mickey.

He would answer for all of it. He felt his hand reflexively curl into a fist at the thought of his nemesis. He would pay, and blood would flow. Aaron's teeth ground together silently.

He could still smell Jackson, even though the builder had moved out hours before. That fruity cologne he wore. He would die before admitting how much he'd come to love that smell. Dolce and Gabbana? Gucci? Something gay…he smiled wanly into the darkness, suddenly remembering Jackson's gentle ribbing at Aaron's own rather unrefined tastes in fragrance.

They'd even argued good naturedly about what would replace the naff Old Spice Chastity had given him two Christmases ago. Jackson had cried out in mock horror, rolling his eyes when he'd found the half empty bottle; while Aaron had blushed fiercely, muttering about not wanting to smell like a rent boy and defended his choice by pinning his boyfriend to the bed to change the subject as fast as possible, stifling the builder's chuckles with hot, lingering kisses. The lovemaking that followed glowed with their smiles, as their bodies, hands and lips entwined.

The memory displaced the rage he felt for Mickey, and a familiar light feeling bloomed in the pit of his stomach, as he recalled the smell and taste of his absent lover. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as the warmth of the memory coated him, his face aflame with dismay.

Unable to lie still any longer he slid from the bed and padded softly over to the window, which glowed softly from the street light outside.

Facing the darkened village, he listened to the soft sounds of Smithy Cottage around him: the low rasp of Paddy's snoring from across the landing, the rattle of the fridge motor downstairs in the kitchen, the radiator ticking.

Something was missing. Not just Jackson, something else. The image of Clyde lying bloodied and limp on Paddy's surgery table suddenly rolled into his head, and his fists clenched again, the blush at the memory of Jackson freezing over as cold rage filled him again.

Clyde had been a light sleeper, and many a night Aaron could hear the soft click of claws as Clyde padded up and down the house, or wuffed lightly from the kitchen at some disturbance outside.

Not anymore.

As his eyes took in the dark street outside, and his mind reeled between misery and rage, a single tear gleamed on his cheek. Snorting, he swiped the tear away and turned from the window. Grabbing his hoodie, he padded silently and tensely from his room.

Despite the season, the night air was chilly, but not unbearable. Jackson let himself out of the house quietly and looked up and down the silent street. He had made a mug of tea in the dim light of the kitchen, and he carried it up the stone path and into the street. Moments later he found himself outside the Woolpack, where he sat on one of the wooden picnic tables arranged in front of the pub.

_This is mad_, he thought absently. _Someone is going to see me and call the police_.

Nothing stirred however, and he sipped his tea in silence, suddenly grateful for the change of scenery from his unfamiliar new room.

He thought of Aaron, asleep in his room up the street, and regret washed over him. His eyes wandered to the top of the dark street, where Smithy Cottage glowed under the outdoor lights. Aaron's window was dark.

He'd become so familiar with this place in the short time he'd been here, the street stretching away to either side, even in the dark, littered with moments he could recall. Almost every memory contained that sharp, angry little face that he loved, and the powerful, compact little body that strode around the village as if he owned it.

Jackson sighed in the dark, and his head drooped, heavy with regret.

Aaron's snarling departure from Andy's house that afternoon had been no real surprise to Jackson, and perhaps even a blessing in disguise. His decision to leave Aaron was held together with the finest thread of commitment, a simple apology would have unraveled his intent altogether, but of course, none had been forthcoming, and his resolve had hardened as the afternoon and evening had passed.

He deserved better than a stroppy, angry teenager with more issues than a saint could contend with. It had been a long shot to begin with, and a spiraling disaster ever since, the debacle with that sodding car and all its aftermath being only the latest.

Jackson knew himself well enough to know the main obstacle in all this was his heart, which, despite all the antagonism, was drenched in love for that stupid boy; his heart, that could hope for better even when the worst happened and Aaron seemed no closer than ever to any sort of balance, or acceptance, or anything other than the snarling aggression with which he met every obstacle and challenge.

His heart saw through that angry, violent façade to the sweet boy within. Occasionally, ever so occasionally, that sweetness glimmered through, when Aaron was relaxed and happy, and his passion was his strength, attractive as a flame is to a moth, rather than a weapon he used to drive away any that might get close.

The cat he had seen earlier slunk back along the quiet dark street, stopping momentarily to consider its audience outside the pub. A second later it vanished into the darkness of one of the gardens alongside.

Jackson drained his tea and holding the cooled mug in both hands, considered his options further. Maybe he should move away altogether. Far away, where his heart's desires wouldn't be able to contest what he knew to be sensible. Start again, as he always did.

It seemed too much to consider, here in the chilly gloom of the quiet village street, where, despite the hour, his only companions were doubt and remorse.

From his vantage point he could now see the top of the quiet, dark street and beyond that, the dimly glowing house where the object of all this thought and affection slept oblivious.

Aaron let himself out of Smithy Cottage and stood on the dimly lit lawn watching the dark village. He had no real plan, he admitted to himself, but then when did he ever have a plan.

Sleeplessness had driven him from his bed. His mind raced. Impulse and instinct alone drove him, as they always had; to buy that stupid car, to impress Cain, to sell it on when he discovered he'd messed up yet again, then to Pearl, then to Mickey, and now look what had happened. Clyde's dead body flashed through his mind. Paddy's face, shocked. Jackson's too, eyes unable to meet his.

In his mind, he struggled to line up the causes of all the events that had transpired. They all seemed to blur, refusing to form any sort of order, with Paddy, Cain and Jackson's disapproving scowls looming over everything.

Fucked. Everything he touched was fucked. His face reddened in the darkness, shame washing over him, followed by familiar anger and lingering sadness. Just fucked.

Pulling the hood of his top over his head, he thrust his hands into the pockets and started walking, the darkness beyond the glowing lights of Smithy Cottage swallowing him up. His instinct was to find Jackson, if only just to make him see. If only just to see him. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he thought of the time. This was senseless really.

_Someone's going to see me and call the cops_, he thought absently as he passed into the quiet village. The prime contender for shopping him to the pigs would be Edna Birch, the village's chief curtain twitcher, even at this hour. _Meddling old cow_.

He scowled when he remembered his phone, upstairs on his night table. Then again, why should he text Jackson again? He'd already vented at his ex-boyfriend via text today, impulsively, angrily, like always. _Teach him to think himself so much better._

He had thought Jackson was different. Jackson appeared in his mind's eye, smiling, laughing, touching him. The thought of never being touched by Jackson again made his chest constrict suddenly.

Stopping, sighing loudly, he squashed this desire almost instantly. Jackson had made his feelings clear that afternoon, confirming what Aaron knew all along really. He wasn't worth it. Fucked people never were.

Anger welled again in his chest, and inside his hoodie pockets, his fists clenched again. He would just move on. All Jackson's stuff could go tomorrow, and he would just get on with it. Why bother reversing the inevitable.

His wandering had brought him to the seating area in front of the Woolpack. He sat on an empty bench, wincing slightly at the coolness of the wood through his tracksuit pants. Across the road, Andy's house lay in darkness. The street around him was quiet and empty.

Staring absently at the house for a second longer, his thoughts coiled in simmering anger. The simple ferocity of impulse shook him; Jackson could have what he wanted. If that wasn't Aaron, then so be it. He scowled, stood and wheeled where he stood. Without looking back, he set off back to Paddy's, leaving the empty street behind him.


	3. The L Word  5 Oct 2010

**The L Word**

_[Aaron Livesy / Jackson Walsh]_

_PG13. Approx 1580 Words._

_Written for: Set after Jackson's declaration of L but before the much-anticipated crash episode. Suspect all this will be for nought after that… (Confirmed _ _)_

_**Author Postscript:** I submitted these somewhere else last year, so it's all pre-the black hole of misery that has overwhelmed this story in 2011. I was pleased with these attempts in particular, so let me know what you think by all means, though the show has long since moved beyond the events described._

***Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of the characters, names or settings portrayed here.__I intend no trespass by musing on them in this way. Don't sue, or send me nasty, expletive-laden emails._

Aaron slouched low on the settee, arms folded tightly across his chest. Quite what he was watching escaped him, but it appeared to be football- either a live match, or the highlights of an earlier one. In truth, his mind was elsewhere, and as he processed the past few days, his scowl deepened.

'_Cos I love ya!'_

Jackson's words spun in his mind. They had all weekend. In the midst of that latest row, over Jackson's paying off of that scum, Mickey; that had been his response to Aaron's angry demand for explanation. He couldn't have shocked the mechanic further from his train of murderous thought if he'd pulled out a bat and whacked Aaron through the face with it.

_Love_.

Paddy loomed over him. "Hiya"

'What?' mumbled Aaron, eyes not moving from the flickering screen.

Paddy knew better than to press Aaron on his delightful mood, one that had lasted the whole weekend. He had no real clue what latest tragedy had befallen his young charge, though he suspected it had something to do with his boyfriend, Jackson. To be honest, he was routinely amused by the turbulent melodrama of the pair's relationship- on one day, off the next; one quarrel seemed to follow another. Young love, eh, he thought to himself, suppressing a smile.

"Right, well, I'm off out… your tea is in the oven, but don't leave it in there too long, else it'll dry out;" he offered the sulking teenager on his settee, who's eyes were resolutely fixed on the TV screen.

At that, Aaron blinked and glanced at him for a moment with unreadable eyes. His mouth opened, presumably to sneer some response, but he seemed to rethink it. His eyes resumed their glare at the screen in front of him.

'Ta,' he muttered softly.

Paddy watched him for a moment longer, suddenly torn about his plans for the evening with Marlon and Rhona. Though he was not Aaron's biological parent, he could not help feeling parental impulses to care for the teenager, especially when something seemed to have him so down. He preferred not to recall the consequences of other times' this year Aaron had been 'down'.

Aaron glanced up at him again, scowling fiercely. 'Anything _else_?' he hissed.

Paddy blustered, and backed off, offering the scowling teenager a weak smile. 'No, no, nothing. Okay, enjoy your evening." He spun on his heels and left the sitting room.

As Paddy swept out, Aaron's scowl softened into a wince. He didn't mean to come off as such a prat. He never meant so much of what he ended up doing, and yet his mouth just moved before his brain could moderate. The results were usually disastrous.

It had been a slow weekend as such. Well, slow for him. He had wanted to avoid attention, and seemingly, few people wanted to cross paths with him. As it happened, everyone else seemed to be frantic with their own activity anyway: even Adam had declined a Sunday evening pint. Apparently he was spending the evening with girlfriend Scarlett. Paddy was off out with Marlon and Rhona again, and even Hazel had been scarce- spending most of her time in the pub or the caf, and presumably some of that with her son Jackson.

_Jackson_.

He hadn't seen the builder since that Friday afternoon in the pub, when Jackson and his mother had shared the most awkward pint in the world with Aaron and his own mother. They had barely said two words to each other, and he couldn't even remember what conversation had passed between the two women, for all he could see was Jackson's eyes avoiding his.

Each time Jackson looked up, Aaron would look away, face set in a permanent scowl. Within ten minutes Aaron had drained his pint and escaped back to Smithy cottage to see Adam. He hadn't waited to see Jackson's reaction to his flight, much less that of Hazel or Chas. Shame flushed his cheeks, and he was thankful the house was empty yet another time that weekend. He didn't want anyone to see how he felt, and especially not now that the game had changed so inexpectedly.

_Why say that,_ he thought reflexively, _why say love?_

Adam had seemed nonplussed, when Aaron had told him of Jackson's confession later that day, perhaps even careful. He didn't know how to discuss love with his best friend, besides having a laugh about it. He had no vocabulary for it, for what he felt. Their conversation had drifted to easier topics: Scarlett's new business venture; things going on up at Home Farm; the ongoing debacle with Adam's drug-addled sister, Holly. Any of these seemed better than the l-word shaped elephant in the room.

For himself, Aaron didn't even know what to say in response to Jackson's confession; not to his apologies through the door of Smithy Cottage just after it, nor to the builder's SMS'd apologies to his phone later. Part of him knew he couldn't keep these avoidance tactics up much longer- they had only patched things up again a day earlier! How long could he expect Jackson to wait around? Again! Panic began to gather in his chest. If he couldn't love Jackson back, then he would surely lose him again.

His earlier words to the builder cornered his thoughts; '_I need you_,' he had said '_I hate being without you_, …' Surely he had brought this situation on himself, by letting Jackson think things were much more serious than they were. It all came back to him, again and again, like always, somehow he fucked it up. Frustrated suddenly, he lurched off of the settee and headed for the door, leaving the television murmuring softly to an empty room.

From the top of the hill behind the Smithy Cottage, he could see most of the village of Emmerdale spread below him. It was early evening, and despite the hour, a soft light still illuminated the scene below. _This is strange without Clyde_, he thought to himself absently. Once he and his dog Clyde had practically owned these hills and the paths around them, but now Clyde's ashes were scattered across the top field he had once loved to gallop across. Another thing he had fucked up.

He watched the small village below slowly settle into Sunday evening.

Those things he had told Jackson, in a field not so far from here, where his dog's ashes now lay; those things were still true. He did still need him. His absence the past weekend had been a dull, self-inflicted ache.

The 'l' word had changed everything, for he didn't know how to feel or relate to the love of another. It was as if Jackson had defected to another country, babbling in another language he couldn't guess at the real meaning of.

Even as the thought of love, the word itself, bobbed tauntingly across his thoughts, he felt his hands curl into fists on the warm stone wall upon which he sat, and a flush cross his downcast face. His mind wrestled with all too familiar threads of argument, like the despised lyrics of a overplayed song.

_How can you love someone who doesn't even know what love feels like? What does he expect me to say?_

Aaron's heart thudded in his chest, which in the silence of the gathering evening sounded loud as a banging drum in his ears.

_I won't be able to say it, and he'll leave. He'll go off and find someone who can love him._

His hand curled impulsively around a loose stone on top of the wall he sat on. On reflex, he threw it with all the ferocity coursing through him. It sailed out of sight into the grass near the bottom of the hill.

_If I lie, he'll know. He always knows._

A low growl sounded from the village in the distance. Looking down, he marked the familiar blue van, small at this range, easing between the houses to its new berth at Andy's. Aaron wondered what Jackson had spent his Sunday doing, and who with.

_I'm his flaming boyfriend,_ he thought, _I should be there with him now_. The row outside Smithy Cottage about Jackson's declaration had put the relationship back on ice, but not shattered it completely. Now a single word had stalled it, while he and the builder both retreated to safe distance. Even through his frustration he could recall the simple pleasure of just being near Jackson. It had taken him long enough to admit the feeling of it to himself. The challenge was to communicate it. He never belied that pleasure enough, through his actions or gestures, and certainly not enough through his words.

_If I could just show him. _

His mind raced, seeking some way through the minefield of his prejudices. The van had disappeared behind the dim smudge of houses and trees, and the colour had begun seeping from the scenery around him. Lights began to blink on in the village, and a soft murmur of music reached across the dark field towards him. His stomach growled, and he started from his reverie.

Sighing, unresolved, he slid off the stone wall and slowly set off back down the hill to the village. As the familiar path slid beneath his trainers, he knew no matter how close he got, no matter how much he thrashed it around in his head, Jackson still remained one word away from him.


	4. Persuasion 11 Oct 2010

**Persuasion**

_[Aaron Livesy / Jackson Walsh]_

_PG13. Approx 2750 Words._

_Written for: Set after the episode airing 08 October 2010._

__**Author Postscript:** I submitted these somewhere else last year, so it's all pre-the black hole of misery that has overwhelmed this story in 2011. I was pleased with these attempts in particular, so let me know what you think by all means, though the show has long since moved beyond the events described.__

***Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of the characters, names or settings portrayed here.__I intend no trespass by musing on them in this way. Don't sue, or send me nasty, expletive-laden emails._

The days eked past.

Jackson remained in a coma, but stable, and attended to by regular visits from his mother, Hazel and father, Jerry. Paddy would stop by once a day for the latest, and even Bob had appeared now and again, mostly at Hazel's side. The only one conspicuous in his absence was Aaron, who had taken Jerry's vicious orders to stay away to heart.

Since Jackson's dad had accused him of everything his grief-stricken mind had told him he was guilty of already, Aaron had simply capitulated. Neither Paddy's pleas to see reason, nor Hazel's repeated SMSs to ignore Jerry and come see Jackson had worked.

Aaron had become a sort of ghost in the previous few days. The only evidence he existed was the occasional dirty dish in the sink at Smithy Cottage, or item of clothing in the laundry box. He avoided Hazel at all costs, which wasn't a challenge as she spent most of her day at the hospital, or at work in the caf. Paddy was concerned, but didn't want to pressure Aaron into anything. He seemed to live between his room and the garage. That or long walks in the surrounding dales. Andy reported to Paddy that he had seen Aaron crossing the top field early one evening, though he was too far away to greet directly.

Cain looked up from the invoice he was attempting to decipher. It was covered in grease given those morons at the tyre dealership apparently couldn't afford a paper towel to wash their grubby hands on.

He regarded the silent form of his nephew out in the yard, chest deep in the bowls of a knackered old Vauxhall. Aaron hadn't said a word all day, which, in the absence of Ryan had left the garage unseasonably quiet. The small radio was the only contributor of sound, and even the crappy tunes the berks at Radio One played hadn't elicited the slightest protest from the usually very picky Aaron.

Not that he minded Aaron keeping his gob shut. But he also knew that Aaron's silences could disguise much deeper and darker issues. The vision of his nephew lying outside the garage, white as a corpse with both lungs full of carbon monoxide suddenly flashed through his mind's eye. He dropped the invoice, and strolled out to the Vauxhall.

If Aaron registered the approach, he didn't indicate it. He carried on mauling a cross bolt with the wrong size spanner. Cain watched this for a moment before adding,

'Have you heard anything new from the hospital then?'

The spanner stopped working.

'No… nothing.' came the muted response.

'You know, if you want to get off and go down there, I don't mind. Think I can cope with this old rust bucket.'

The torso shifted and Aaron slid out of the car's interior. His face seemed blank, though the eyes were red. He didn't meet Cain's gaze.

'You're alright. I'm nearly done anyway.' Aaron responded blankly, pulling off the latex gloves protecting his hands, and focusing on the tools balancing on top of the car next to him, awaiting the next volley.

But Cain, for his part, didn't know what to add. The surly, gobby teenager he loved to spar with had not come to work today, and he didn't know how to approach the person before him, closed up and blank, but clearly in pain. Charity had told him the full story of what had happened, and he didn't even need to see Jackson lying broken in that hospital for himself, he could read it in his nephew's eyes.

'Right, well, I'm off for lunch… I'll, uh, see you later.'

He turned and strode from the garage yard, while Aaron watched him go with haunted eyes, then turned back to the car besides him.

Cain found Paddy and Hazel in the caf, deep in conversation. Hazel looked wrecked herself, pale and exhausted. Paddy didn't look much better. His entry paused their discussion, as they turned to look at him.

'Alright,' he offered, 'two bacon butties please Hazel, for myself and his nibs.'

'Sure,' she responded absently, not meeting his eyes, 'coming up.' As Paddy and Cain looked on, she moved around preparing his order.

'How is he today?' inquired Paddy, 'Aaron, I mean.'

Cain rolled his eyes at Paddy's coddling, 'Quiet as a church mouse and getting on with it, not that he's getting a lot done, mind.'

Paddy's expression didn't change. 'Well, you can understand he has a lot on his mind,'

'Alright, I know that. I'm not hassling him about it. Not like I have a business to run or anything is it?' Cain noted sourly.

Paddy grimaced at Cain's insensitivity, as the bell on the door tinkled, and Pearl came bustling in.

'Paddy! Mrs. Vines is waiting!' she exclaimed at her employer.

Paddy's grimace turned into one of surprise. Mrs. Vines was bringing her budgie in to have its nostrils disinfected. 'Oh flippin' heck! I'm on my way,'

Pearl joined him at the counter as he turned to Hazel, 'I'll be back in later. When are you heading back to the hospital?'

Hazel turned to him from the opposite counter where she was absently wrestling bacon sandwiches into paper bags,

'After I'm done here, about 4. Can I get…'

'I'll give you a lift!' Paddy completed her sentence as he rushed out the door back to the surgery nearby, leaving Pearl and Cain with Hazel.

Hazel deposited the two paper bags in front of Cain. 'That'll be £4.50.'

Cain dropped the coins onto the counter, and picked up the sandwiches, trying not to look in Hazel's eyes. He got enough of that look back at the garage lately.

Hazel's hand stopped his arm, forcing him to look at her face.

'Please,' she pleaded, 'please have a word with him.'

Not usually caught speechless, Cain stammered, shocked by the gravity of the woman in front of him

'I, uh… Aaron?'

Hazel continued, 'He doesn't have to stay away. Paddy and I can't get through to him, and Jackson needs him. Please just have a word, he looks up to you.'

She removed her hand and offered him a wan smile, before turning back to see to Pearl who had watched the exchange with wide eyes.

Still speechless, Cain left the caf and headed back to the garage, pondering Hazel's request.

There were ways and means to make Aaron do things he didn't want to do, but Hazel's request was of a completely different order to the one on which he usually dealt with Aaron. He wouldn't admit it, least of all to Hazel, but he wasn't sure how to speak to Aaron about something like this. He could readily admit to being rubbish at dealing with emotional situations, and even he could see that his intervention here would only make a bad situation worse.

Rounding the corner into the garage yard, he found Aaron arranging the parts of the Vauxhall's transmission system on a sheet on the ground.

'Alright?' he called to the teenager kneeling amidst the grease stained parts. 'Here y'are!'

As Aaron looked up, Cain tossed one of the paper bags at him and skirted around him towards the safety of the garage office, not waiting for a response.

Aaron caught the sandwich, and looked at it briefly as if it had been offered to him by an alien. Looking up, he watched his uncle disappearing without another word back into the garage. Silently, he dropped the sandwich besides him on the ground sheet and with an unreadable expression, returned to the car parts around him.

Later that evening, though the surgery was closed, Paddy sat at his desk finalising some of the surgery reports. He'd dropped Hazel off and stayed half an hour to get the latest information from the doctor. Rhona was out with Marlon, though she had offered to take the paperwork off his hands, so he could stay at the hospital longer. Declining here offer, he had insisted she stick to her plans. He'd had enough of the hospital for one day, and to be honest, if the sight of Jackson comatose and broken in that bed wasn't hard enough to stomach, then the continued presence of Jerry, his father, was more so.

_God, I hate that man_, he thought to himself. _I don't care who he is, or how upset he is. To say those things to Aaron like that_…

From the other end of the house, he heard activity in the kitchen. Hazel was still at the hospital, so it could only be Aaron in one of his increasingly rare appearances in the land of the living. He hesitated over the reports for a second, deciding what the best strategy would be, before grabbing the empty mug near his desk calendar and heading for the kitchen.

He tried to make as much noise striding through the sitting room as possible, so as to advertise his approach. He entered the kitchen, and found Aaron hunched at the kitchen table nursing a mug of tea. He didn't raise his head when Paddy entered, but Paddy could see from his drawn features and red-rimmed eyes that he couldn't be feeling any better.

'You alright?' he asked as levelly as he could as he headed for the just-boiled kettle.

'Hiya,' responded Aaron in a small, hoarse voice.

Needing to buy some time, Paddy made a show of refilling the kettle and setting it on to boil again. Once that was done, he turned to face Aaron.

'I was at the hospital just now,' he offered gently. 'No change, as such, though they said his blood pressure had improved, and his brain activity was better. They showed us the chart, but I couldn't really see what they meant, it's not the same as a dog ECG, but that's a good sign, isn't it?'

Aaron kept his head down. 'Yeah,' he muttered.

Paddy watched Aaron's pale hands moving reflexively over the surface of the mug in front of him. One still bore the faint scars where he'd hit that wall the night it had happened.

'He could regain consciousness any day now, they say, since his vital signs are getting better,' Paddy blustered on.

Aaron's thumbs moved in small circles across the sleek porcelain of the mug. He didn't respond.

Paddy decided to go for broke. 'Aaron, don't you think you should be down there, in case he wakes up? I know his dad said those things, but even Hazel agrees you should be there with him, no matter what Jerry says. You have a right to be there.'

Behind him, the kettle boiled and clicked as it shut off. At the mention of Jerry's name, the thumbs stopped circling.

'Paddy… please.' Aaron responded hoarsely, 'I'm not wanted there. You heard him, and he's right. Just leave it.'

Paddy watched the sorrowful scene before him for a second more, then turned to complete making his tea. _Strike one unsuccessful_, he thought, _let's see how this works_;

He made for the sitting room door with his steaming mug, before turning once more to the grief-stricken boy at the table. He regarded the prostrate form of his surrogate son at the table, the very image of misery, and at that moment, through the usual fluster of his thoughts came the very thing to tell him.

'Let me say one more thing, then I'll leave you be, I promise.'

Aaron didn't move, and didn't respond. Tentatively, Paddy continued,

'Do you remember when you were in that hospital, after what happened at the garage?'

Aaron tensed. The movement shuddered imperceptibly through his back. He didn't respond.

'While you were laying there, with all those tubes hanging out of you, your mum and I were nearly sick with worry…'

Nothing

'She thought she was about to lose you, and I...'

Here, Paddy paused, as the shadow of those terrible three days crossed his face.

'Well, I thought I was going to lose you too, and that I was the one that had driven you to it.'

Aaron's head drooped to the table, and hoarsely, from the trembling cradle of his hands, he finally whispered,

'I never meant for you to think that… I was messed up.'

He sniffed, and Paddy sensed the tears had begun creeping from him again. Instinctively, he moved closer to the table and laid his hand on his surrogate son's neck. Soft tremors shook the boy before him.

With his free hand, Paddy manoeuvred a chair into position, and without removing his hand from Aaron's neck, he took a seat.

'Aaron, look at me. Listen to me.'

Seconds passed, and slowly, the face that rose to meet his gaze was the very picture of despair. Bloodshot eyes leaked tears down the flushed planes of Aaron's face. Paddy's hand migrated to the shoulder, which was as taut as a rebar. He continued,

'I know you didn't mean it, but listen: That day, as you lay there, your mum and I had a terrible row. We said awful, awful things to each other. I told her she was the worst mother in the world… and, she told me I had no right to be there, and I had done that to you.'

Through the grief written on Aaron's face, there grew a sudden, if slight, twist of the usual indignation.

'W-what? What are you talk..'

'The point is,' Paddy interrupted gently, 'the point is that we were both upset and scared of losing you, and we both lashed out at each other in fear and anger. That's what people do in times like this, when they face losing someone they care about.'

He paused there, hoping the message might sink in. Instead, Aaron continued to watch him blankly, face gleaming with tears.

Sighing softly, Paddy continued,

'It took a friend to put me right… Marlon sat me down right here and told me to get my behind back to that hospital, because, because no matter what had happened between you and I, and no matter what harsh things your mother and I said to each other, beneath all that, both of us cared for you, and though you couldn't tell us at the time, you needed us both to be there for you.'

Searching Aaron's eyes in that moment, Paddy detected the very, very slightest hint of derision flash through them. Less than a moment's worth, but it was enough. Paddy knew he'd hit home. Only the Aaron he knew could react so sneeringly to such open affection.

On cue, Aaron pulled his shoulder out from under Paddy's hand and with a soft snort, returned his attention to the table before him, head in his hands.

Capitalising on this progress, Paddy dealt the final part of his advice,

'So let me do you for you what Marlon did for me; don't you listen to that man for a second! Jackson cares about you, and you care for Jackson. He needs you now more than ever, and it doesn't matter what happens tomorrow, or what happened the other night, he needs you there right now. So get your behind out of this house and down to that hospital, because no matter what it is you think you've done to him, the worst thing you could do to him now is abandon him there with that horrible man hanging over him.'

With that, Paddy reached into his jacket pocket and gently placed his car keys in front of the weeping teenager, gave the trembling shoulder one more rub, and stood up.

'I can imagine how you're feeling, because a few months ago, I sat right here feeling something similar,' continued. 'Please, Aaron, don't make the mistake I almost made. Go and see him.'

Aaron noticed the keys and his eyes rose to meet Paddy's once more. Any evidence of defensiveness or sneer had gone. His had reached up tentatively to meet Paddy's.

'Thanks, Paddy,' he whispered hoarsely.

Paddy smiled, and patted Aaron's shoulder, muttering 'good lad' before turning and heading to through to the sitting room with his tea.

Minutes later, as if waking from a deep sleep, Aaron also rose and tentatively picked up the bunch of keys in front of him. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie, and with a determined look, walked out the door into the evening.


	5. Waves 18 Oct 2010

**Waves**

_[Aaron Livesy / Jackson Walsh]_

_PG13. Approx 935 Words._

Written for_: Set after the episode airing 15 October 2010 when Jackson wakes up.  
><em>

Summary_: As Jackson lies in ICU ward, waves of sound and memory overcome him as narcotics do the same._

_**Author Postscript:** I submitted these somewhere else last year, so it's all pre-the black hole of misery that has overwhelmed this story in 2011. I was pleased with these attempts in particular, so let me know what you think by all means, though the show has long since moved beyond the events described._

***Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of the characters, names or settings portrayed here.__I intend no trespass by musing on them in this way. Don't sue, or send me nasty, expletive-laden emails._

Jackson opens his eyes, and slowly tries to set his thoughts in order again. It could be this took him a few seconds. It might also have lasted an hour.

Time is a funny thing, it turns out.

For the life of him, he cannot put an actual number on the amount of time he has lain there in that bed, or even been out of the coma. Since he emerged from it, day and night had become strange and elusive memories. He was certain he had asked, and even been told repeatedly, but the memory faded each time.

Time seemed to pass in intervals: lights in the ward going on and off; or visits from his mum and Aaron. The itinerant beeping of the monitors attached to him provided a rhythm of sorts. Voices outside the ward. Occasionally he would smell food passing by outside, presumably someone's dinner, or maybe lunch. He couldn't tell. Everything he ate entered via his arm. Well, so he imagined; he couldn't exactly feel his arms.

Or anything else below the neck.

'Hello, love, can I check your saline for you?'

He swivels his eyes in their sockets and makes out the dim form of one of the nurses above him, fiddling with the equipment suspended above his head, his lack of response notwithstanding. He hears the soft clicks of the drip being changed, and a low squeak as the feed is adjusted. Things seem fuzzy around the edges, including the thoughts simmering hesitantly through his mind. _Drugs_, he presumes. _Painkillers_. _Tranquilizers_.

'There we go, you should be able to sleep through now.'

_Ironic_, he thinks absently. _What pain are they killing that my own shattered nerves can't?_

Soft breathing, somewhere to his left. From that corner of his eye, he can make out the recumbent form of his mother, head down and snoring softly in the chair next to his bed. Quite how long she has been there escapes him of course.

A pale face looms above him. The nurse. Her eyes are kind, but tired, and she looks into his briefly before focusing elsewhere. He registers movement in the brace that holds his head immobile on the pillow, as the nurse gently adjusts the metal screws and tests the clasps. He can move his neck a little now, if he tries, but the brace keeps a firm grip on his head notwithstanding.

The gentle side to side pressure on the brace subsides. His vision seems to flutter at the edges and sense slips from him like waves down a gentle slope of sand.

_Tranqu_…

_Yellow, warm sand below. Beneath his feet. Grains of it pushing up between his toes. Like a sea of gleaming jewels pushing up to meet him. The air itself glows around him, and moves like breath across his skin, accompanied by another, deeper unending roar of sound. Waves of this gently push into his ears. Waves of azure water fall onto the shore. Dim shrieking. Children and birds, near, far, all around. The sun above, shining, scorching down. The air. The air is alight. But something, something else is alight, and warm. The sky tilts and the bright air flows across and around him, and the golden sand seems to rush up to meet him. There is a hand, a warm, rough hand in his. His head swims, the sun and the sea and the bright, gleaming air shift around again and there is Aaron, alongside, smiling at him, like art. Beneath the ebony gleam of his hair, his blue eyes glow the same colour as the sea behind him. Behind his head, shrieking birds streak like comets through the glowing air, and the sand seems alive with jewel-like people. Sand, water, people sparkle. Their colours blind him, like heat to his skin is their colour to his eyes. Aaron's face moves against this slowly swirling, gently shifting background, the mouth moves in that golden face. Like the sphinx, like the flaming sphinx. Jackson's gaze leaves the golden skin and blue eyes and red lips and travels along brown shoulders and down a long sinuous, sensuous trail of arm to their hands joined in the glowing air while birds shriek and the sea roars. The sand pours upwards and the sun tilts across the blue sea and Aaron's red mouth moves, saying_

'Jackson…'

Clothed in light and sound, one reality blooms, and the roaring and shrieking seem to fade, wobble and wither into unconsciousness.

'Jackson, mate…'

As the world dances around the distant sound of his name, light and dark coalesce around a face, looking down at him, or up at him, but at him. Light and sound merge and produce colour and thought. Blue eyes watch him; _so, so blue. _Something warm is on his face, like the sun. Like golden sand.

'Jackson…'

It's Aaron. As up and down settle into their usual places, and one sound begins to fall in line behind another, he is sure he feels his heart leap in his chest. _Impossible_. Whatever is on his face moves gently, warmly across his cheeks. Blue eyes in a round face framed under dark bristles of hair. _Red lips. Blue eyes. _Both shot through with concern. _Concern, and…_

'Is he alright?'

_Another voice._ A sleeping face looms in his memory. _Mum_.

'Yeah, he's comin' round.'

Aaron's face creases into a smile, as his blue eyes bore into Jackson's. Distantly, Hazel's face looms into view. Senses restoring themselves, Jackson comes to.

'Alright?' he murmurs.

'Alright,' whispers Aaron through his smile, as he gently strokes Jackson's cheeks with the tips of his fingers.


End file.
